AN: TW emphasis on death

From the journal of Apollo Trevelyan
Recovered in 9:42 Dragon

I often tried to imagine what death would feel like, and thinking about it always haunted my dreams.

Tonight was no exception. I just awoke from a nightmare and it was filled with too much death.

The mark on my hand is hurting again. My mind is also bursting with disturbing thoughts. My whole body aches. I'm still recovering from my injuries.

I bet you're confused. Allow me to explain.

Haven was attacked only yesterday. After I closed the Breach and people began to celebrate, an army of Red Templars arrived and attacked us. Several people died. We survivors barely escaped, and the one responsible for all this has revealed himself to me, saying I stole the Anchor from him — and he was referring to the mark on my hand. I don't know how I could've possibly stolen it and why, but he insisted I did so and he wanted it back, to fulfill his quest to become a god because apparently, the "throne of the gods was empty". He wanted the Anchor back so badly he was determined to kill everyone that got in his way. He was ever so eager to rid the world of me and take that one thing on my hand that I never even asked for.

We fought. I escaped, somehow. I've been badly wounded. I thought I was finally going to die, and it brought back dreams of old — my silly little musings — of how I was going to pass, and how it would feel like. It terrified me. Part of me realized that I happened to picture quite an accurate way to die and yet, it did not prepare me.

I thought I prepared myself with the idea of death. Turns out I didn't, at least not enough for me to accept it. When I fled Corypheus and fell down the caves, alone and cold, bloodied and dying of thirst, with no hope of finding my people, I realized I was never fully prepared, and that I did not want to die either. I . . . can't. I don't want to. And when I got out of the caves and searched, and searched, and searched for the rest of the Inquisition, I could not help but think that this was it — I will die alone in the snow. Everything I worked for was going to end there. I was going to leave the world with unfinished business, unanswered questions, and filled with hatred towards my family, towards my parents.

Ah, but what is the point of this entry? I fear I may have gone all over the place. My mind is scattered at the moment. I'm exhausted and I still need to recover from my wounds before we move again, but I do not want to go back to sleep either. If I do, I'm scared of seeing the same images again — the dead bodies, the dragon, Corypheus, the snow, my blood. Just the thought makes me shudder, makes me sick.

Truly, the idea of death is . . . terrifying.

I need to cut this short. Solas found me awake by the fire and wishes to talk. I'll write back soon.